


Meant to Be

by Bullfinch



Series: Piper & Bash [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4413584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/Bullfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of bandits may be more than they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meant to Be

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Some plot bits/events may be a little confusing because I had to obscure them so as not to expose my players to spoilers.

The pain is fine. Piper can deal with pain. But he can’t put any weight on the damn thing. The knee just buckles, sending a wave of nausea through his gut.

Bash is there, supporting him as they stumble through the trees. “Piper—“

“Keep moving,” Piper growls.

It was a neat trick. The ground under them liquefied instantaneously. Piper sank to the shin before he could do anything. Bash was more agile, as always, and leapt onto the nearest chunk of dry earth.

Which was, of course, exactly where they expected him to go. Piper blocked the incoming crossbow bolts, but the angle was bad and his legs were still stuck and anything in his left knee that started out whole is likely now torn in half.

“I killed their leader,” Bash pants. “They won’t come after us. Not right away.”

Piper saw that, the bandits fleeing, Bash ripping Kumashte’s bright blade from the fresh-made corpse and then jamming it, still bloodied, into its sheath. So he grunts, lets his arm slip from Bash’s shoulders, and crashes to the ground.

Bash kneels next to him. “Did you hurt anything else?”

Took a nice shot to the ribs, another good one to the lower back that’ll have him pissing blood for a week. “No,” he says.

“Yeah, right,” Bash mutters. “We need to get out of here. We’re not equipped for this.”

Retreat. Come back to fight another day. Piper likes the sound of that. He nods.

“Okay. Let’s splint your knee.” Bash stands.

Piper smacks his leg. “First check. If they’re coming.”

“Their leader’s dead, they—“

“Just do it. Please.”

Bash exhales. “Fine.”

Piper tests the knee again. He can hardly move it. Useless. Worse. He’ll have to be dragged the whole damn way.

“Oh no,” Bash breathes.

Shit. Piper looks up.

“You’re right. They’re coming. Fast. We should—“ Bash turns around, eyes still glazed with his second sight. Then he freezes.

Shit. “What? What is it?”

“They’re—they’re all over the woods. Must be the people from Tolstead. Came out when they found us gone.”

Not good. Piper knows he’s dead weight right now. “They have magic?”

Bash’s face tightens. “Some of them.”

“Then go. You can still escape if you don’t have to carry me.” Piper struggles to his feet, supporting himself on the edge of his shield.

Bash doesn’t move. And doesn’t reply.

Piper’s fingers flatten against the shield, knuckles turning white. “Bash, get out of here. I’m too heavy and I can’t even walk. I’ll stay here and hold them off to cover your escape.”

Bash hesitates. Then gives him a small smile. “No.”

Piper yells in frustration, not caring if their pursuers hear. It’s not like they covered their tracks anyway. “This isn’t a discussion! The only way either of us make it out is if you leave, now! Without me!”

Bash takes his arm gently. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

Piper shoves Bash in the chest hard enough to make him stumble. But his grip on the shield slips, and he falls to his knees again. “Gods  _damn_  it, Bash, you  _have_ to! You have to save yourself!”

Bash stays just where he is. “No.”

And then it’s too late.

A half-dozen men and women clamber up over the mounds of rock, crossbows raised. They’re joined by more, flowing up out of the woods. Bash moves in front of Piper—stupid, and infuriating, and  _wrong_ —until the semicircle is filled in. Behind them Piper hears more movement far off in the woods. He waits for the hail of bolts.

Everyone is still.

Then one woman steps forward. “My name is Beryl, and I’m in charge now. Lay down your weapons and surrender, and my fighters won’t hurt you.”

Piper squeezes his eyes shut. They’re going to die. Bash doesn’t surrender. He faces the hopeless odds and fights them anyway, depending on luck to bear him through, and it always has so far—but not here, not against so many who have magic and weapons that can kill from thirty yards away, and Piper steels himself for the battle cry and the deadly twanging of crossbow strings—

There’s a  _thud_  and the rustle of leaves.

Piper opens his eyes.

Kumashte, still wrapped in its scabbard, spins across the forest floor. Beryl stops it under her foot.

Impossible.

“Good,” she says airily. “Now come with us, please.”

——

The bandits keep them separated. They bring Bash to the front, march Piper at the back. They’ve allowed him a snapped-off branch to use as a crutch. He hobbles. The pace is slow. Beryl doesn’t seem in any hurry.

At last they arrive at the cave, which he and Bash never got a chance to reach. But he saw it, in his sixth sense, the two odd juts of rock sticking out from the top of the mouth.

Inside the cave is narrow, the scent of smoke on the air. And…something else. Piper isn’t sure what it is. He catches Bash grimacing in the torchlight. Wishes yet again magic was one of the things his own second sight could catch. Then maybe he’d know. There’s something in this place.  _Dark_ , Bash called it, when he first cast his gaze this way.  _I don’t recognize it. But it goes deep. Seems like all the way down into the earth._

Piper can’t think of any way this ends well for them. Can’t believe Bash surrendered. He should have left. But they’re in love so he didn’t.

A hollow grows in Piper’s chest. This was always a terrible idea. He should never have agreed for them to be together in the first place. Silently he prays they’ll kill him first. Then Bash won’t have any reason to stay here anymore.

But that thought raises the question: why aren’t they dead already?

The cave opens up into a wide chamber. It’s smokier in here. At the far wall something is burning. “Take their armor and bind their hands,” Beryl calls.

The half-dozen people already in the cave bring their total count to twenty. Piper doesn’t know why he’s still counting. With no weapons and a wrecked knee, he doesn’t have a shot anyway. They pull at the buckles of his armor, nearly yanking him off-balance a few times. Inexpertly done. Pieces fall to the ground. The breastplate lands face-up, displaying the proud emblem of the Grey family. Guilt burns in the pit of Piper’s stomach. Someone draws his hands behind his back, wrapping his wrists together with rough rope. Bash is receiving the same treatment. Everything in Piper screams against it. Seeing the greatest Hevron in a hundred years humbled like this, seeing  _Bash_  humbled like this, all because of Piper—

“All right.” Beryl turns, the torchlight reflecting off Kumashte’s pommel, which is now jutting over her shoulder. “Lord Bassius Hevron, am I correct?”

Bash blinks. “Uh—yes.”

“I’m going to ask you for some information. You won’t be inclined to give it to me, but looking at you, well, I’m pretty sure I can’t beat it out of you, either.” Then she pauses, and her gaze slides to Piper.

He remains impassive as the stone beneath his feet. But Bash flinches—gods damn him—and Beryl’s face breaks out into a smile. “Thank the Lady, I wasn’t sure this would work. But it shouldn’t take long after all.”

She punches Piper in the face.

It’s a good, sharp blow, and it snap’s Piper’s head to the side. He would have toppled over for sure if he weren’t being held upright by two of Beryl’s subordinates. His cheek burns—she must have split the skin.

“Wait!” Bash shouts, panicked.

Damn. Backed into a corner, when he can’t depend on Piper, Bash has a bad tendency to fall apart. “It’s okay,” Piper says as he rights himself on his one good leg. “I’ve had worse, you know that.”

“You don’t have to hurt him.” Bash’s voice is back under control. “I’ll answer your questions.”

Beryl cocks her head. “Tell me about the Hevron brand of magic.”

Bash’s brow creases in confusion. “Uh—I mean, it varies a lot. From person to person. But I guess there’s some central techniques…”

He goes on. Piper’s inclined to tell him to shut up but knows it won’t do any good. Beryl continues to probe. Sometimes Bash hesitates too long and Beryl gives Piper another jab in the face or gut. Bash scrambles to stop her. Piper wishes he wouldn’t. Getting hurt is line number one in the Grey family job description. His mouth is bleeding. Must have had a tooth knocked loose. Or bitten his tongue. He spits blood on the ground.

At last Beryl claps her hands together. “Just one more thing.”

One more thing? She’s almost done. Piper’s heart races, a rushing noise filling his ears. When she has all her information she won’t need them anymore. They’re dead.  _Kill me first,_  Piper thinks.  _Then Bash won’t have to worry about me anymore. Kill me first._

He misses the question, but he does hear Bash’s bewildered “I—I don’t know,” and braces himself for the coming—

—blow, a savage elbow to the gut, and even his custodians can’t keep him upright as he doubles over and sinks to his knees, gasping.

“Stop!” Bash yells. “I don’t know! That’s the truth!”

“I’m not in the business of taking chances.” Beryl punches Piper in the face again, a powerful downward strike. He feels his cheekbone crack and blacks out for a second, comes to disoriented.

“Stop it!” Bash lunges uselessly, still bound. “I don’t know, hurting him won’t change that!”

“I understand. I just need to be  _really_  sure.” Beryl stomps on the back of Piper’s injured knee.

Okay.  _That’s_ painful. Piper yells, trying to get away from her, but she has him pinned and grinds her foot down. He chokes the yell back to a strangled noise, tears pricking his eyes with the effort. Bash shouts his name.

“I-I’m fine,” Piper growls.

“So, a tough guy, huh?” Beryl remarks.

A heel pounds into his lower back. Same damn spot. He grunts, pressing his forehead to the ground. The pain reverberates through his gut, echoes and echoes.

“Stop. Please. I  _don’t know._ I would have told you by now. Please stop hurting him.”

Piper curses Bash again. The most inconsequential threat and he rolls right over.

“Well, that will be entirely up to you.” There’s a smile in her voice. She grabs Piper by the hair and yanks his head back. The edge of a blade digs into his throat.

Good. When she still doesn’t hear what she needs, she’ll kill him. And Bash will be free to escape. With his skills, he should be able to pull it off, even from this many enemies.

“Please don’t.” Bash’s voice is barely above a whisper. “You can do whatever you want with me. I’m the one worth money. Just please don’t kill him.”

Piper twists in reflexive anger. ‘Do whatever you want with me?’ For the sake of his bodyguard? That’s not how this works.

“Okay.” She nods over his shoulder. “Drink that or your friend is dead.”

One man cuts Bash’s wrist bindings. Another approaches, handing him a wooden bowl. Piper pulls up his second sight and sees within it—liquid, with maybe something else. Maybe magic, which he can’t see.

But Bash. Bash sees it.

His face settles, the tension and fear leaving it. For the first time since their capture he’s calm.

He turns to Piper. “Keep going, okay? Keep moving. And I love you.”

“Bash, don’t.” Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong. “Don’t do it.” Piper fights against Beryl’s grip, but she’s holding him too tight. His skin gives at last under the knife’s edge, and blood trickles down his neck.

Bash holds the bowl to his lips and tilts it back.

Almost immediately his hands start trembling. Liquid spills down his chin, onto his chest. It’s jet-black. Piper stares, his composure leaving him. Whatever’s happening, he has an awful feeling it can’t be undone.

The blade leaves his throat. Beryl cuts the rope binding his hands.

The bowl clatters to the stone floor. Bash hunches, his fingers crooked like claws. For a moment he’s still.

Then a noise comes out of him like nothing Piper’s heard before.

Not a shout, not like the battle cries he employs with great enthusiasm during combat. Nor a yell of pain, nor even of anger. More like there’s a beast inside him, trapped and desperate, that’s roaring, roaring and roaring.

Beryl presses the knife-hilt into Piper’s hand. “He’s all yours.” Then she steps away.

Piper barely notices that everyone else has backed away too, now lining the cavern walls. He tries to stand and falls. His knee won’t hold him.

Bash whirls, catching Piper in his animal eyes.

“No—don’t—“ He grips the knife. What the hell is he supposed to do with a knife? He learned to throw them once, but he fights with a mace and shield, not—

He heaves himself to one side as Bash lunges. What’s wrong with him? Bash is practically immune to poisons—another messy dodge as a heavy fist pounds into the stone where he was just lying. Dragging one leg behind him like this, he won’t last a minute.

So he tries to investigate, opening the sixth sense he shares with Bash. He knows Bash as well as he knows himself, should be able to tell what’s wrong—

He recoils, flinching. Whatever’s there stings just to look at. He did hear one thing, in a voice achingly familiar:  _KILL—_

Another ragged bellow. Piper crawls backwards, still clutching the knife, his knuckles scraping raw on the rough stone. He searches Bash’s face, but he sees nothing, nothing of the man he loves—

Bash charges. It’s clumsy. He’s usually graceful despite his bulk, but now it’s like he’s got too much body and not enough idea what to do with it. Piper flips over and hobbles away, dully surprised to find he’s completely terrified. He hasn’t got the slightest notion of what to do here. His lower back throbs.

He tries again to find out what’s wrong. Again that hideous presence, everywhere he looks, permeating every inch and filling every crack, and Bash in his head screaming  _KILL—_

Not fast enough this time, the huge fist catching the side of his thigh, and he kicks out to get some space, crawls away, his gut  _aching_ , gods damn, Beryl didn’t spare him an inch—

He flattens himself under a wide swing, looks up and meets Bash’s eyes—which turns out to be a mistake, because there’s no one behind them he recognizes, just some  _thing_ , undirected and wild. And the thought rips him down. Bash is gone. Gone. And this—replacement just some manic entity that cruelly bears his face.

Bash is on top of him, grabbing and crushing. Piper raises a forearm to block and Bash nearly breaks it with the sheer strength of his grip. Desperate, undone, Piper feels himself hyperventilating, and tries once more, just in case,  _just_  in case there’s anything left, and throws his sixth sense open wide.

Dark. The wrongness is thick and revolting, and Piper nearly throws up when he forces himself deeper.  _KILL_ , the refrain bubbling at him distorted from every side, but he keeps searching, feeling Bash’s knee jam up into his ribs once, twice.  _KILL_ , he can’t shut his ears against it, but there might be—something _,_ buried far down, perhaps a single bright spot, perhaps the only remnant left. He goes deeper, the darkness roiling over him, making him sick beyond sick, still listening to the constant  _KILL, KILL, KILL—_

He breaks through. The darkness held at bay. The only remnant.

_—me._

The little bastion of peace collapses.

Back out, still on the edge of throwing up, and he starts to double over. But Bash grabs him by the neck and squeezes, yanking him close. Hot breath gusts onto his skin. Piper, fingers crushing his throat, stares into Bash’s face and sees only what’s left, the empty savagery, thrashing against nothing—

His knuckles scrape as he lifts them off the rock. With his opposite palm he braces the pommel to reinforce the blow. The blade leaps forward.

Up under the ribs, and it slides right in, through soft tissue, blood spurting out instantly. It covers Piper’s hands, gushes down his arms, soaks his sleeves. He’s pierced the heart. Without a doubt.

The grip on his throat slackens only for a second before it picks up again, and Piper gasps for air, to no avail. He rips the knife out, and more blood pumps from the wound, splashing onto his shirt and trousers. Bash roars one final time, the sound guttering out into hoarseness. Then he lets Piper go, at last, slumps forward. Piper catches him automatically, feels the quick rise and fall of Bash’s chest as he takes his last, sucking breaths.

Then he falls still.

Piper sobs into his hair, hugging him close. That familiar warm bulk that used to bring him so much comfort, now dead, just meat, just an empty corpse. How could he have done that? How could he kill his best friend, his charge? The man he loved more than anything else in the world?

“Maybe not such a tough guy after all, hm?” Beryl says.

Someone takes the body from him. He puts up a token resistance, but he’s drained, helpless. Coughs, his throat in agony from the choking. The nausea churns in his gut. It’s over. Everything’s over. His vision blurs, tears welling in his eyes. His hands lie open on his lap, the knife still balanced on his curled fingers. He twitches, and it clatters onto the stone.

There’s shouting from a few feet away. Piper’s not listening. Bash is gone for good. Because he wanted to protect Piper. Because Piper agreed to this stupid relationship seven years ago, which he shouldn’t have done. He  _knew_  this would happen. This is exactly why it’s forbidden. But he was so weak, so, so weak, had seven years to do something about it and never once said a word—

He coughs again, throat raw. With the adrenaline gone, the pain is starting to hit him, and it’s everywhere. He whimpers, lying down on the ground and curling his knees to his chest. The cracked ribs, the choking, the crushed arm, the destroyed knee, the blows to his gut—spits blood on the ground, and that, too, Beryl smacking him around with casual violence—

“Well, let’s make this not a total loss.” Beryl’s fist balls in his hair, and she yanks him to his feet, dragging him forward. He limps, succeeding with no small effort in staying upright until she tosses him again on the ground. “You’re going to be staying with us for a while,” she tells him.

Someone ties his hands together again, in front of him this time. He lies on the stone, staring at nothing. His entire life has just been ripped away from him.

Once more he starts hacking away. There’s smoke in the air. If he breathes it in he’ll never stop coughing. With what scraps of energy he has left he summons a breathlessness spell to protect himself.

Doesn’t know why he’s bothering. There’s no reason for him to be here any more. No reason to be at all.

 

 


End file.
